Trace
by dragonFELL
Summary: When you're shut in an apartment room and cut off from the outside, you wonder whether you really exist. What trace can you leave behind in a rusted world like this one?
1. Proof of Existence

**Disclaimer: I do not own .flow; lol (creator) does.  
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**Also, this not a novelization of the game - although it might read like one for this first chapter. :/**

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><p><strong>Trace<br>**

**.flow 01 - Proof of Existence  
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_Don't forget to keep looking for symptoms. If she comes back, you know what to do._

_Yes, sir._

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><p>The computer is the only link to my past—or so the doctors told me, just before they finally discharged me from the hospital. They say it's amnesia—something to do with blunt trauma. Hit my head, and out flew my memories—every single memory I had. All that was left remaining was, well, me: a sleepy girl whose bedhair could benefit from some earnest brushing, and not much else.<p>

So, the computer.

It's the only unfamiliar object in this bare room that I can hardly even remember—but the memories are slowly coming back, filtered through a murky haze, as I investigate my room. Dusty bookcase, check. Television, check. _Shinsoku Neko_, yes, I remember that—maybe I'd try and beat that old high score again, for old times' sake? And of course, how could I ever forget the bed? I want to sink into its depths now, close my throbbing eyes, and sleep.

I didn't even consider the door—the doorway to the outside. For some reason I don't remember walking through it, although I must have; how else could I get in here from the hospital, after all? But there's something terribly foreboding about that door. I can't remember _why_, but something tells me—my unconscious, perhaps, the part that still holds some fragment of my memories before I hit my head—that if I step outside, I would surely die.

Was I always like this? Paralyzed by the mere thought of walking outside? Who was I, before I lost my memories?

Two sharp raps, strong knuckles striking hard against the heavy gray door leading outside. I pretend to play _Shinsoku Neko_ when she comes in—the maid who wears that gas mask day in and day out, showing nothing and saying nothing. The doctors insisted on letting the maid take care of me for the next few days—otherwise, I'd have to stay at the hospital under their watch, in case of complications after ending treatment for the concussion. She doesn't look like a medical doctor or even a nurse to me—but she does bring in the food, at least. I watch her out of the corners of my eyes as she steps in, walks behind me, and leaves a pink and white cake on the desk right next to the computer keyboard before heading back out the way she came. Her mask makes it impossible to tell—but I swear I can feel those glowing red eyes boring into my back while I play the act of passive prisoner.

Because that's what this is, isn't it? I can walk out that door anytime I wish; the doctors didn't say I couldn't. I lean back on the chair while nervously nibbling at the cake. I left the hospital because, as kind as the doctors were, something about those clean whitewashed halls felt _wrong_. Maybe it's because, for all its shining whiteness, I knew that a hospital was a place of death. And now my own room feels like a prison, with my own fear as my gaoler.

That's when I finally turn to the computer—it's always hibernating, and hums quietly. _Use this to help you remember,_ the doctors had said; _it's not guaranteed, but you can try._

I wasn't always like this—Sabitsuki, the girl closeted in her apartment room. I just know it—the same way I know that hospitals are where people die, and that the maid under the mask isn't who she appears to be. According to the doctors the computer is my proof of existence—who I used to be, before a hammer crashed into my brain. And it's my job to find myself again.

I bring the computer to life with a single touch.

_And so it begins._

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><p><strong>AN: Hurro. I don't know why the bloody deuce I'm writing this. Heck, I don't even have a coherent plotline written out, besides the ending. : Anyways. I love reading the many theories out there for .flow—but as much as I'd love to rant and ramble about all the things I think is going on with .flow's story, I can't seem to get any condensed 'theory' to make sense. Not to mention I keep changing my mind about interpretations of certain events. So here's my take on .flow—and hopefully I didn't scar your mind with terribad writing. ;^;**

**And wow. This is the shortest chapter I've written for fanfiction since middle school. /is sad now**

**Thank you for reading. :)  
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	2. White

**.flow 02 - White**

_It's a game, really—no finalized product name as of yet, besides 'flow'. The whole thing's artificial intelligence; it evolves and adapts according to the subject._

_So you're using _her_ because..._

_Killing two birds with one stone—it'll help us get into that head of hers. Especially now that the board's considering cutting the budget again—clever, don't you think?_

_What if something goes wrong?_

_That's what we have you for._

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><p>She used to live in a world of smoke and ash and snow, all mingling together into a single colorless blanket. Snow from the sky, ash from the smokestacks—covering everything with white. But what Sabitsuki remembered most was the quiet—the white silence of a world dying slowly.<p>

The shrill cry of the whistle, carrying farther and clearer than any voice could in that smoky white world, was a familiar call. Mother had trained her to react at the first sound of that whistle; it was the signal to return home.

_Where's Mommy?_

_We're sorry, Sabitsuki. There wasn't anything that could be done._

The little girl looked up at the men who were so much taller than her, her face half-covered by the hand-knit orange scarf wrapped several times around a skinny neck.

"You'll be moving as well—this area is too polluted for young children to live in."

The little girl turned her gaze downwards, staring at palms that were stained green from exploring the maze of flowery vines. She liked the ashes, even though the tall men tried to convince her that the air was bad for her health. "Where will I live?"

"Far away from here—a nice apartment, better than this one, with an adult to look after you."

"What about the hospital?" Little Sabitsuki didn't like hospitals even when she was young—but she had to go. She was sick; she always had been. At least she had friends at the hospital, who were as weak and sickly as she was. "What about the other children? Can they come too?"

"They can't. You know that. But we're placing you in another hospital—almost five times bigger than your old one. You'll even go to a school there, you'll find plenty of friends."

_Friends._

The funeral was the very next day, held not far from the slums she lived in—so Sabitsuki could still see the smoke rising from the rusted pillars through the thin black veil of her dress, the smoke that killed her mother and would kill her too if she stayed. The dress was also old—borrowed for the occasion.

As they lowered the casket into the earth, she wondered: why did people bury their dead? Maybe people were like the plants in the underground labyrinth where she spent her days exploring—forgotten and abandoned underneath, yet still alive and growing. _Maybe Mommy will come back,_ she reasoned. Maybe even the hospital children, the ones who disappeared one day for emergency treatment and were never seen again.

They weren't dead. They were just sleeping—and they'd be back. Until then she'd have to take care of them, maybe she'd ask the tall men for a watering can. Plants needed water, and if she watered her dead mother and friends they'd come back.

Someday.

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><p><strong>AN: Plant, Dress, Whistle. And maybe even the Watering Can.<br>**

**So uh, yeah. Basically, first-person present tense will be present day Sabitsuki, holed up in her apartment room. I think these chapters will sort of be like semi standalone one-shots - my own theories on Sabitsuki's past, to explain the effects that present day Sabi collects throughout the game. **

**Oh and this chapter is horrible. It's so short. I don't think I've written a chapter so short in my life. Braindead and brainmushed. Blegh. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Weapon

**.flow 03 - Weapon**

I leaned back on the chair, letting it all sink in. Yes, I could remember the place we used to live in; I could even faintly recall the scratchy yet comforting fabric of the scarf covering the lower half of my head. So this is what the doctors wanted me to do—use the computer and start remembering all the things I've lost.

Well, alright. Let's keep going, then.

It's a weird game, labelled _.flow_; the player I control is someone I like to call 'little Sabitsuki'—not just because the avatar is smaller than I am, but also because I feel like I'm walking in the shoes of a younger me.

I take a different route this time. It's tempting to return to the old locations—those plant labyrinths, the snowing world of ash—but without discovering new areas I can't recall any more memories. From my starting point I take the north route, and then—

I find myself in a jet-black world with one crimson eye carved into the ebony. Static crackles from the speakers, and I consider turning them off—but curiosity overtakes that desire, and I keep moving. What could this have anything to do with my past? There are weird... _things_ standing here—white amorphous blobs, really, with gaping black mouths and wide grins that reveal two unsettling sets of teeth.

What the hell does this have anything to do with me?

I can't find an exit out; the area, like the others I've already encountered, is endlessly looping. Until I find a unique formation—a trio of white monsters, all of them grinning. One's grinning wider than the others; the black gap in its mouth could fit—could fit a person...

I climb through and am greeted by rows of grins. My head's aching again, that spot where I was hit so hard that I wasn't myself anymore. There's only one way to walk: forward.

And then I see the three children—or at least, I _thought_ they were children, until I got closer. They had white hair, like me. Black dresses and white uniforms, that I remember once wearing. But their faces—they _had_ no faces; where eyes and nose and mouth should have been, only a bloody crimson ruin remained.

And they _smiled_. They know me.

Instinct tells me to run. I do a 180 and _run_, as fast as the game allows. They're right behind me, giggling as they chase, if I keep going at this pace I should be able to escap—

The fourth monster comes out of nowhere. He runs into me from the direction of the exit and all I can see, for a split-second before everything goes black, is his face: a gaping red cavern of blood.

And then—I'm back outside. Sprawled on the ground, surrounded by those grinning white structures again. Only now I notice that there is blood on their teeth, dribbling down their pale chins. I liked them better before I knew what they symbolized: three students, around my age, laughing at me.

Later I'd try to get to the monster-children again—but always that fourth boy intercepted my escape. And I didn't have any weapons, either—what kind of game was this, anyways? These were the first 'enemies' I encountered so far, but I couldn't fight back. I was helpless.

Or was I? I remember having a weapon once...

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><p>Years had passed, flowing from present to past as easily as a river. She tried to hold onto the waters but they slipped away from her frail fingers; the present was not a thing to be held or cherished. Only feared, like the three girls who hounded her inside—and sometimes outside—the school. That's why she wore this black hood to cover her telltale white hair and freakish red eyes; it hid her face, and protected her.<p>

_Why don't you fight back?_

She couldn't. They were three and she was only one. They had white hair and red eyes like hers, but that didn't make them friends; if anything, they seemed to hate her the most out of all the other children.

She trudged back home thinking, _It wasn't that bad._ They were just kids, fooling around and having fun. Yes, they terrorized all the younger children in the school—but they didn't mean anything.

It could have been worse.

Sabitsuki was always careful to stay away from the darker alleys, but tonight she didn't care what dangers such places could hold for a young girl. She just wanted to get home, go to bed, forget about everything that happened at school today—

Something caught her eye: an iron pipe, leaning against a grimy wall innocently as you please. At first she thought it was blood splashed against the gray metal, but it was only the orange tinge of rust. She picked the thing up, gave it an experimental swing. It was heavy—but her arm was already adjusting to the weight and balance, as if this pipe was meant for her.

She swung, again and again like a baseball bat, wondering what a face would look like if she hit them hard enough. Would the eyes pop from impact, leaving only a bleeding mouth filled with broken teeth? What if everything but the eyes remained, with two wide orbs floating in a sea of red? Maybe there wouldn't be anything left at all—just a gaping red hole. So many possibilities.

Maybe she'd find out.

She carried it back home that day, and would never leave her room without it. She had a weapon now, a tool to fight back. Let them come and ambush her again, like they did today. They'd find the error of their ways, and pay.

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><p><strong>AN: Man, these chapters are so easy to write. 8D Probably because, unlike my other writing coughWarriorscough, I know not a lot of people are reading. Or judging. :D SCREWQUALITYYO.<strong>

**On topic: Yay for present and past Sabitsuki. Introduction of the Iron Pipe and Black Hood effects, as well as the beginning of the Corrupted School event. Can't wait till we get to _that_. ;D**

**Thanks for reading.**


	4. Microbe

**.flow 04 - Microbe**

I lean away from the computer and stare blankly at the monitor, letting everything from this last flow session sink in. There's no Internet connection so I can't turn to the world for answers, so there's only one way to make sense of all this: the maid.

Soon the maid comes in again—this time with a cup of tea. She leaves it on the desk right next to my hand and, as always, backs away with a light curtsy and retreats the way she came.

"Hey, you." She continues walking. "Why do you always wear that mask?" Halfway across the room now; two more strides and she'll be out the door. "_Stop._" One hand—deathly pale, although definitely human—rests on the knob of the heavy gray door. But she's not turning it, and that's a good sign. "Please. Just answer this one question for me."

For a heartbeat I hesitate—but I have to know and she's the only one who can tell me; there's no one else in this prison of mine.

"Am I dying?"

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><p>Sabitsuki knew she was going to die.<p>

It wasn't just chance that Mother fell prey to illness. It definitely was not coincidence that Sabitsuki had to visit the hospital every single day, even after she moved away from her old polluted home. She was sick and she was going to die like the other children, the children who were now buried and were probably growing like plants. But she didn't want to die.

"How do people get sick?"

The nurse smiled. "So little Sabitsuki wants to be a doctor too?" She opened a cabinet, brought out a microscope and few sample dishes. "Come here and see."

That's how she learned about the invisible things called _bacteria_.

"See this knob? Turn it this way-" The display blurred, as if a fog had set in—"or turn it _this_ way." The nurse twisted and suddenly everything was sharp and clear again. Little Sabitsuki was already enthralled; as soon as the nurse allowed her, she took hold of the dial and adjusted the view to her liking. "What do you think?"

"These little things make us sick?" They didn't look like much—little blobs floating in a sea of white, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

"Not what you expected, is it?"

Sabitsuki shook her head. Were these the things that killed Mother? Were they inside her body now, conspiring to take over and turn her into a plant? She had to find out, but no matter how she adjusted the magnifier, none of it made any sense in her head. She would have asked the nurse some more questions, but the doctor called the nurse away; he needed help with another patient.

If she had been a little older, she would have noticed that, for the next few hours, the entire hospital would be dedicated to keeping that other patient alive. She caught a glimpse of the dying girl as she was carted from room to room; she saw the missing eye, the punctured stomach, the limbs broken in several places and bent at crazy angles. A car accident. But she wasn't horrified, or even shocked; she'd turn away from the mangled body and return to the microscope, to the bacteria that held the answer. Because the answer was all that mattered—the cure that would allow her to stay alive. Nothing else was important.

It was hidden here somewhere. She just had to keep looking.

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><p>And still to this day, I would keep on looking.<p>

Little Sabitsuki was dying. I want to reach a hand through the computer into the past, hold her in my arms, and ask her to tell me more—but how can she? She's dead. She only lives in the memories stored in this computer. I'll never get to know that little girl, my past self. So many things I want to know, yet can't possibly know.

Am _I_ dying?

"I am, aren't I? That's why the doctors sent you here. Is that why you always wear that mask, so you won't catch whatever disease I have while you watch me in this damn cage?"

I expect her to turn away and leave. She's never answered any of my questions before—but then again, why should she? With a mask like that, it's hard to see whether the being underneath is man or machine. And she doesn't speak, she never does—

"Please." My voice cracks and I wipe away a runny nose, willing the tears to stay away. "Am I dying?"

She turns—that's how I know that she's human—and says quietly, "No." And then she's gone.

There are tears on the keyboard, slipping away into that place I can't reach. Tears of relief. Tears of despair.

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><p><strong>lol Arm effect. And yeah, Monoko's the dying girl who was at the hospital - it was the only way I could explain why Sabitsuki finds the Arm effect at the Microscopic world. : Added some more Cleaner/gas mas maid interaction.**

**At this point I realized that some parts in this story are going to get rather hairy. I mean, I personally took a less 'grotesque' interpretation of .flow, but how T-rated can you get when you try to interpret the Flesh Walls world? :/ And given that it's one of the most important maps in the game, I can't just conveniently skip over it (the way I'm doing for some areas, unfortunately—I'm not going to try and interpret the green geometric world, lawl). Ah well.**

**Thanks for reading.  
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	5. Smile

**.flow 05 - Smile**

_The computer is just that—a computer. All it can do is gather data for us. The content—the areas, the people—we programmed those in. But we can't tell her that, can we?_

_How do you know she'll remember in the way you want her to?_

_I don't. It's a theory. An experiment._

_You're risking someone's life on a theory?_

_Of course. And why not? She's a monster, after all._

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><p>They were afraid of her. Who wouldn't be afraid of a white-haired, red-eyed freak who carried around a rusted iron pipe?<p>

It's for protection, she told herself. When she entered a classroom, she didn't have to turn around in her seat to know that the other loitering students were gravitating towards the edges of the room—away from her. She didn't care; she wasn't close with anyone and she didn't care to be.

There is one boy who stands out, and not just because of the red crosses tattooed onto his eyes. Unlike Sabitsuki and the other white-haired children, he walks among the other students freely; they look up to him, the silent older brother. Every time he spotted her pipe, he'd smile and remind her with his small hammer that she isn't the only one here who is armed and dangerous.

She hated him, because he was no hero. He was good-natured and friendly, but she had seen his scarred arms and bloody hammer. The others saw a protector, while Sabitsuki saw nothing but hypocrisy.

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><p>Filled with the triumph that comes with victory, I stroll past the fourth monster with a smile. Most of the special effects I've found so far don't do much—the headphones play music, the diving helmet produces bubbles—but some of them are useful. The iron pipe didn't help me fight the monsters—disappointing—but one effect could turn me into a ghost. Invisible. Nothing can touch me while I use it.<p>

Now that I'm finally past the fourth monster, I see that my original entrance is gone. A new path has opened up instead. I walk past a repeating hallway of grinning white faces—they're perplexing, but I've finally cracked the puzzle. Whatever lies ahead is my reward.

I'm at the school.

I've been to the school before, but even without entering the building, I know something's wrong—horribly wrong. I can't discover the truth without moving forward, though, so I continue onwards.

As soon as I step into the school's hallway I notice two things: a white-haired monster is running towards me, and I am no longer transparent. I try to re-equip the effect but something's wrong; the game won't let me use anything. I can only run, so I run. As soon as I reach the stairs, I panic—up or down? Somehow I just know that the game will not let me go up—because I _didn't_ go up. Back then, I had gone down.

Still being chased. These aren't the same monsters from before, but they look familiar—too familiar.

They look like me.

I finally reach the basement, where he's waiting for me—the boy with the tattooed eyes and the unnerving smile. His right hand is holding his hammer; mine is holding an iron pipe.

He stands there, smiling. I'd turn back around and leave, but I don't—because I didn't; that's not what happened, so the game wouldn't let me. No, the game was trying to tell me what happened to me in the basement, and it doesn't involve me leaving on my own.

Maybe we can talk. I approach his character attempting to do so, but he only smiles—and brings his hammer down to connect with my head.

I turn off my monitor in a cold sweat. The doctors told me that it was blunt force trauma that took away my memories. That could mean a lot of things... like a hammer swung at my skull.

I had the pipe in my hand, my weapon of choice, but I couldn't swing it. Did I not have the strength to swing? Or was smiling boy just faster on the draw?

The next time I wander by his home in the slums, I glare at him and his tattoos while his sister hides behind him. I have no beef with her. But this boy—the one who hit me, the one who took away my memories—I look at him, knowing what he's done to me, and can feel nothing but hate.

Maybe I can have some kind of petty revenge. Will the game give me that, at least? I take out my pipe and get ready to swing... but the game says no. The past, the truth, says no.

And the boy only smiles._  
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><p><em>AN: Wow. This is... like over two years old. I've stopped most of my fanfiction shenanigans, but I had a friend play through .flow recently and I still have a few of my old notes hanging around. And I think the game's received at least three updates (two if we don't count the April Fool's "update") since I last played this game, which makes for fun reassessment of old theories!_

_Thanks for reading._


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